


Sanctity

by THA_THUMPP



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Mindfuck, Mpreg, Rebirth, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:33:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"He wants the same thing as us... He wants out..."</em>
</p>
<p>Sebastian Castellanos can still hear Marcelo Jimenez' last words before being crushed by the monstrosity in the STEM lab, words that continue to haunt the detective even after the final battle's over and he's been freed from the evil within Beacon Mental Hospital. And yet, in one way, shape, or form, Sebastian's still helping Ruvik achieve his ultimate goal from beyond the grave... He just needs to look closer to see the bigger picture. Look, but not touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Repercussion

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Marcelo. Your words were truly inspirational... but fuck you for hurting Leslie. Douche.
> 
> **_WARNING! This fanfiction contains spoilers for the ending of The Evil Within! Read at your own curiosity!_ **

Cuts, scrapes, and bruises.

Sebastian can count them all, _remember_ how he got them all. The ones on his lower back are from the falls through time – on solid ground one minute, floating weightless the next. Then there are the ones on his knees, still shrouded by the legs of his pants, but he can feel the blood already dry beneath.

The scabs, the aftereffects of constantly being thrown like a ragdoll, someone’s play thing. And even though they’re all memories now, in the past and in his head, the pain they bring… Sebastian finds himself cherishing each and every sensation. The winces, the stings.

Everything.

Because it’s the pain that reminds him he’s alive, that he made it out of Beacon Memorial a survivor, not just a whack-job losing himself to insanity. Lunacy. So no one was going to hear any complaints from him, and frankly, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Sebastian’s decided to treat his wounds like trophies. Evidence, from a case he didn’t quite crack, but welcome to the club. Unanswered questions came with the territory. It was something he got used to while on the force. The box of unsolved files, no closure for the families. As a detective it was normal for one or two of those cases to pop up.

Just as it was normal to still have doubts. About what he saw. And eventually Sebastian thinks he can come to terms with his experience, accept it for what it was – a complete and total mindfuck. But not right now.

It’s one thing at a time for the detective, and he’s going to take it slow. Starting with tending to his wounds in the comfort of his own home. His apartment, a place he can call his. _Recognize_ , like the first aid kit behind the bathroom side mirror which he reaches for groggily after lighting a cigarette.

Except Sebastian’s not all there when he unbuttons his vest and peels open his undershirt, exposing the huge, tender hole in his chest from his last battle with Ruvik. It looks like he was torn up from the inside out, all mangled and run-through. But in time it’ll heal, Sebastian tells himself, he’ll mend.

Better than some people might think.

Sebastian Castellanos has nerves as strong as steel and a hide as tough as leather. That, and eyes like a hawk – intuition unmatchable by his peers. All except Joseph, that is, who Sebastian never really saw join him in front of Beacon Mental Hospital after he escaped. But it’s what he _did_ see during his exit and lungful full of fresh air that still bothers him even now.

Leslie Withers. Leaving the crime scene. Walking with poise past all the other officers and called units like it was a normal sight – when in truth it was far from it. Where was the timid boy he tried so hard to rescue? Hell, was it even him? Or maybe…

Sebastian grunts when finally fishing out a bottle of disinfectant, which proves difficult to uncap because of his sore shoulders. Shoulders once held high, but are now drooped in pain. Like his head. He can’t stop thinking about what he saw, his suspicions about who the kid was in the end, and the longer Sebastian mulls over it the clearer Marcelo’s final words become – almost in a daunting echo.

_“He wants the same thing as us… He wants out…”_

At the time, Sebastian thought they were the ramblings of a delusional doctor, someone choking on failure, last minute realization while in the face of death. A monstrosity. But now, they’ve become a point of interest to Sebastian, something he feels requires a little more in-depth analysis…

Did Ruvik take Leslie’s body as his own? Use it as an escape route into the real world? Is that what Kidman was trying to stop all along? Junior Detective Kidman, who was she really—

Sebastian sucks at air through the filter of his cigarette when his hand slips with the disinfectant, pouring too much on his chest in a daze, which causes the gash to burn as if fire ants are burying under his skin. Little sizzles and pops eating away at the already healing flesh, and he chucks the bottle against the wall in an animated toss.

Not out of anger, though. It’s just because reality hurts like a bitch. And Sebastian lets the bottle spill and spit whatever’s left against the tiles of his bathroom while he redresses his undershirt, then vest before loosening his crimson tie and gun holster, trying to make himself feel the least bit at home. Ordinary. But deep down he knows that’ll never happen.

The memories are a part of him now, pieces of a greater picture he just wants to trash, and after laying his gun aside on the counter Sebastian touches his face in some kind of retrospect, feeling his rough chin. Then higher, all the curves of his drawn cheeks prior to running a set of fingers through his knotted bangs like a brush, working at the kinks.

And for a minute, Sebastian likes what he sees in the mirror.

His aging hair and new wrinkles. The darker lines under his eyes promoting his lack of sleep in the last few hours or so, a lot deeper than when first arriving on scene at Beacon Memorial, and Sebastian runs a thumb over the small scar above his left brow – now probably the only mark on his body that has a practical story behind it.

Unlike the last few chapters of _his_ story. All the death, the sacrifices, and Sebastian hopes he doesn’t have to think about stuff like that again when he snubs the last of his cigarette against the porcelain bowl of the sink. Because as far as he’s concerned the battle’s over.

It’s finally over.

“Fuck…” Sebastian drops his shoulders as he sags forward onto the balls of his feet, his hands groping the edge of the counter in a cumbersome lean, a very thankful and relieved lean, and after a minute he sighs.

But that’s before he hears it…

A faint ringing that suddenly grows into a blare, a blast of pain that rockets through his brainstem like a missile, and soon Sebastian’s curving and grabbing at his head. It’s all he can think to do besides grit his teeth, clinch his eyes shut and wait for the misery to pass. Which when it does, as quick as it had come, Sebastian immediately flutters them back open. His mind swirling with possibilities, all of which are the last on his list of shit to deal with, and it’s only when he looks up that his skin begins to crawl.

It starts as a haunting creep, raising the hairs on his arms first, then behind his ears. The same kind of reaction he’d expect to have if someone were to breathe down the back of his neck – but that’s because someone _is_ breathing down the back of his neck, and just as Sebastian continues to stare into the mirror he sees a ghostly figure materialize behind him, through a pulse, a ripple, a blink. A figure he cursed was dead and gone for good…

Ruvik.

But when Sebastian whirls around he’s almost shaken to find he’s wrong – not even close. A trick of his eyes, maybe? Must’ve been, because the person standing in front of him now is actually…

“Leslie?”


	2. Reconnection

White hair, drawn eyes, and bare feet.

 _It’s him alright,_ Sebastian thinks, and for a minute he just stares. Of all the places that Leslie could’ve come, why here… why now? If the answer’s right there in front of him, Sebastian’s not seeing it. Not yet. Not when he has an even better question.

“How did you get in here?”

Because from where Sebastian’s standing and craning his neck his front door still looks pretty locked to him, unopened and intact with both the deadbolt and chain lock. So that just leaves the window, or maybe…

No, Sebastian doesn’t want to assume the kid can manifest through walls like a _certain someone_ just yet, and once he catches Leslie emulating his movements – all the glances he’s been throwing from his bathroom – Sebastian almost wants to consider he’s overthinking things.

Only until Leslie speaks, though.

“Sebastian…”

It’s said calmly, not in that scared and pleading tinge Sebastian’s so used to, what he vaguely remembers putting up with during their time together at Beacon Mental Hospital, and now Sebastian’s thinking about going with his gut. That something’s _wrong_ , and when he looks closer his eyes hook the tail end of Leslie’s lips settling into…

A smirk? Sebastian can’t really tell from the distance, but he’s going to label it as bad news anyways, and for precaution’s sake he takes a step back.

Except Leslie’s right there with him and mimes with one forward, forcing Sebastian to consider a couple more – until he’s nearly right up against his bathroom counter again, fingers hovering just inches away from his gun.

But just as Sebastian angles his body to reach for it, to slide it from its holster, his chest constricts with dread. Especially when he locks gazes with the mirror. Because even though he knows it’s Leslie who’s sauntering up behind him, who’s slowly approaching, the reflection says otherwise.

_I knew it…_

And no matter how many times Sebastian double glances, it doesn’t change. Not the blistering and burnt flesh or the stitched face and exposed brain, and just as Sebastian establishes a more permanent stare the blaring in his head starts back up – which almost overpowers that moral voice he’s heard one too many times.

**_“Seb.”_ **

_Goddammit._

“Ruvik…” Sebastian manages to keep his tone level despite his body curving in a deep wince, one hand already instinctively cupping at an ear like he’s expecting it to rupture from the building pressure.

A force that only grows when Ruvik tries to reach out from the mirror. But before his fingers can pass through the glass half of it shatters. In that instant, Ruvik’s gone and Sebastian’s sent into a stumble of two feet – back and away from the counter, and _straight_ into Leslie’s arms, which are quick to slither around his waist.

Sebastian grunts in surprise and recoils, writhing against the control just as Leslie’s grip stretches higher, to the joints of his wrists, where they stay in a clutch ridiculously stronger than the kid even looks.

Except Sebastian figures that’s only because Leslie’s possessed.

Haunted by Ruvik’s influence, under mind control, Sebastian doesn’t know exactly how yet. Or to be frank, give a fuck – but he’s not planning on waiting around to find out either, and after a quick breath he throws himself backwards.

But all it does is work against him, and in less than a second Sebastian’s unbalanced just enough to be returned forward and funneled back to where he previously was – the bathroom counter. With one push, Leslie has Sebastian pinned down and seething in a grunt against the fixture, also coincidentally rendering half his body useless with his own weight. More specifically, his left arm, which now lies pinioned beneath his chest.

Sebastian makes a disapproving noise at the manipulation and clenches his jaw tightly as he tries to weasel his limb free. But that’s before Leslie adjusts the grip on his other wrist, his right wrist, and guides it towards the broken mirror – towards what Sebastian glimpses as a huge, still-connected protruding shard of glass.

Something definitely pierce-worthy… _And planned_ , as Sebastian finds out when Ruvik materializes in the mirror once more, in another pulse, this time as a splintered image among the fractured and scattered glass. It’s the smirk that gives the deliberation away, one ever so subtle, but Sebastian sees it. More than he wants to because of the many rifts, fissures that make him feel like he’s looking through multiple eyes and not just a cracked surface, and it’s enough to set him on edge.

Sebastian’s teeth grind. _Incensed_ doesn’t begin to describe how he feels about the idea of being stage-managed… again. Honestly, he thought he was done playing errand boy to a delusional psychopath, done with picking up the pieces of himself that were lost back at Beacon Memorial – his ability to discern between fantasy and reality. Because having his sanity back now only makes it harder for him to watch Ruvik lift a hand.

It roves out and stays hovered in the portion of the mirror that’s still intact, and before Sebastian knows what’s happening Leslie’s thrusting his palm right into that damn, obtruding shard. Impaling it, in one side and out the other, a through and through, and Sebastian chokes in a cry, soon to bury his head in the bowl of his sink to muffle a bucket’s worth of curses.

**_“I want out… I want revenge… I want back what was taken from me…”_ **

Ruvik’s words film through Sebastian’s head like bubbles, hollow and frothy when compared to the ocean of hurt searing his hand, and as he continues to grovel he misses the chance to watch Ruvik gracefully align his boney fingers with his reflection. Palm against palm, granting them both just enough contact before he starts pouring his red cells into the wound, almost like a transfusion.

**_“You think you’re safe here? You. are. not. This world will know who I am. And you’re going to help me…”_ **

Sebastian’s whole arm singes at the magnetic pull between his flesh and the surface of the mirror, then his belly. It burns, like it’s nestling a flame, and after another panted imprecation Sebastian whips his head up. “Let… go of me!” He grits, trying with all his might to peel or wiggle himself free from the glass. But when that doesn’t work, he resorts to driving himself back against Leslie just as Ruvik continues.

**_“Yes. You’re going to bring me back to life. You’re going to bring me into your world…”_ **

And just like that the last of Ruvik’s red cells scatter, alongside the force binding them, then Ruvik himself, and Sebastian slumps away from the counter – flanking Leslie, who crumbles too with a sniveling peep. A _scared and confused_ _peep_ , and Sebastian can only wonder if the kid’s back to himself when they both dazedly roll themselves off the floor.

“Hurts… Hurts…”

Well, that sounds normal enough, and when Sebastian finally straightens his stand, now noticing Leslie crouched next to his sofa, cradling his head and whimpering, he almost wants to sigh in relief that it’s over… whatever _that_ was. But it’s only until he walks about as far as the bathroom door that he feels jinxed, and pain – not the kind he was so set on cherishing earlier, either.

It’s more like a bolt of agony, a ripple of ache exploding and tearing its way through his gut in waves, literally resonating with the walls around him, and as Sebastian curves in on himself he barely manages to get a grip on the doorknob when he reaches out. But that’s also around the same time something hot and wet rushes from between his legs, and before he knows it he’s shrinking to his knees and slipping a hand up and amidst his thighs in a grope.

Except when Sebastian pulls his fingers back and away to hold high and trembling in front of his face he almost wishes he wasn’t so hasty for answers, because that’s when he sees the color streaking his palm. Then as his eyes drop, coating the tiles… the red. The blood. _His blood_.

He’s fucking bleeding.

“…What?”


End file.
